


Through Every Open Door

by Anonymous



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Book!Aziraphale, Desk Sex, M/M, Magic Cum, Not relevant but I felt it had to be mentioned, TV!Crowley, promptfill
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-06
Updated: 2019-07-06
Packaged: 2020-06-23 11:18:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,029
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19700293
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: Crowley opens a door he's not supposed to open and finds himself face to face with an Aziraphale who's definitely nothisangel.Or: TV!Crowley and Book!Aziraphale meet. Because that is what we're calling it these days.





	Through Every Open Door

**Author's Note:**

> Written for a prompt on the GO kink meme.

The problem about opening doors where there weren't supposed to be doors was, unfortunately, that one was wont to end up in places one didn't expect to end up in – or hadn't even known existed. Or places that weren't even supposed to exist, Crowley added mentally, gapin like a fish at the man-shaped being that stood in the middle of the bookshop.

A man-shaped being that looked like Aziraphale, cocked his head curiously like Aziraphale and whose eyes opened in surprise just like Aziraphale's would have upon realizing, if he'd known about this. "Oh, dear," he said, with Aziraphale's voice. "That went rather more wrong than I had planned."

Crowley's mind, unable to comprehend what had actually happened when he'd flung open his kitchen door with both arms full of wine and tired to short-cut into the bookshop, latched onto the words like a lifeline. "You _planned_ this?"

Aziraphale's – no, not Aziraphale, he _wasn't_ the blasted angel – eyes narrowed. "Of course not, don't be silly. Who are you?"

Crowley crossed his arms in front of his chest; which he could absolutely do since the wine bottles had obediently rearranged themselves to stand on the dresser. "You go first."

"Seeing as you have just stumbled into _my_ shop, it would only be polite of you to introduce yourself first."

Crowley raised a brow. "I'm a demon. I'm never polite."

"Don't I know it." The Aziraphale-shaped being sighed. "I think you already know who I am."

Something twisted in Crowley's guts. He refused to believe it was unease. The thing was, he _did_. He could feel that same, unmistakable, holy aura of soothing serenity that he'd known since the Garden. It clung to his opposite like it did to Aziraphale, which was just impossible. "I know you can't be real."

"You _know_ or you believe you know? Because I feel very real at this moment." The Aziraphale-shaped being looked at his hands, turned them over a few times and smiled thoughtfully. "Yes, definitely real. My dear, I think it's you who can't exist."

Crowley hissed. "Whatever. I'll be going then."

He turned on his heel, more than ready to walk out the door, hop into his car – which would, of course, be right there on the street as if he had left it there – and realized abruptly that outside the bookshop's windows was nothing but pure white. Bright enough to blind, too, like sunshine on an empty canvas, or the inside of a cloud, or… Or the view of the empty, colorless sky the day he'd seen it from below for the first time, wind howling in his ears as his wings failed him and he fell and fell and fell.

Suddenly feeling a little dizzy, Crowley turned away from the window. He pressed his eyes shut for a moment, to stave off the feeling, and it settled back into the swirly sensation he had been feeling since he'd walked in. "Okay, this has stopped being funny. Where is London?"

"Exactly where you left it," the Aziraphale-shaped being said placidly. He didn't look very bothered, overall.

The demon bared his teeth. "Don't get smart with me. If this is Hastur's half-cocked idea at revenge–"

"As if I would throw my lot in with that... lot," Aziraphale cut him off. "Don't play dumb with me, you know me better than that. Obviously."

"Ovviusssly," Crowley parroted. Agitation was much better than trepidation, he decided, pulled out the desk chair, shoved it aside and planted his ass next to the wine bottles. Then he spread both hands. "Since you seem to have a complete handle on this, take it from here. Where are we?"

Aziraphale eyed him sceptically, before his gaze flickered to the window. His expression shifted into something Crowley couldn't quite read but immediately knew he didn't like.

"What does it feel like?"

Crowley tilted his head, listening. Well, not exactly listening. Not like a human would, but since humans didn't have the sense he was employing to _experience_ the world around him like their kind did, he didn't know what else to call it. There was Aziraphale, of course: a shining presence in the everyday rush of the city, like a rock in the surf. A very magnetic rock that also glittered. But where there should have been the background noise of human activity around them, there was... nothing. As if the World didn't exist at all and the Earth was freshly born, mortal feet having yet to tread all its roads.

_Empty_ , that was what it felt like. Uncharted, _unchained_. Crowley had almost forgotten what that felt like, but also, not. How could he? He'd been born into this feeling. All angels had. Long ago, it had been all they had known.

For simplicity, he stuck with the last time he and Aziraphale had ever felt it. "The Garden," he said. "But this isn't it."

Confused, he curled his tongue against his fangs.

"It's a pocket outside of the realities we were working in," Aziraphale explained. "A glitch in the system, so to speak. Imagine a glass bubble. Luckily, there's an easy way to shatter a glass bubble from inside."

Interesting how he'd just jumped over the 'realities' – plural – bit. Crowley tucked it away for future blackmail. "Punch it?"

"Correct!"

Aziraphale beamed. As if he were proud, which was one of the things Crowley wouldn't have expected to find himself on the receiving end of, if he were honest. Aziraphale was an angel, they were 'different', and he never tired of rubbing it under the demon's nose.

This Aziraphale, whoever he was, didn't seem to care too much. It was really rather disconcerting. 

"Quite correct, my dear. And what is a punch?"

Crowley cocked his head. "Get to the point, Angel."

"At its most basic, a punch is force coupled with direction."

Aziraphale formed a fist and slapped it into his other hand's open palm. It echoed weirdly, the sound resonating like it really shouldn't in a room stuffed with bookcases filled with whole forests of pressed paper. Not to mention all the other things people thought to make books of when all of the angel's favorites were written.

Crowley made a mental note to horrify Aziraphale with that first edition wrapped in actual human skin next Christmas. Now that the angel – this one – had laid it out for him, the solution seemed quite simple indeed.

If they needed to smash their way out... well, the walls of a room weren't too hard to hit from the inside. "So all we need to do is–"

Crowley opened his palm, summoning up a flaming cannon ball. Or, tried to. Nothing happened.

Frowning, Crowley repeated the gesture. When it produced the same result, he shifted tactics and went for something a little less difficult. A ball of water. Again, the space above his hand remained stubbornly empty.

"Precisely," said Aziraphale.

"Shite," said Crowley. He tried to manifest his wings, uncaring that it would have been hell on the stacks of books around them, or the layer of dust artfully draped over most of the customer-oriented furniture. But while he could feel their weight and response when he tried to move them, they failed to drop into reality.

He glared at Aziraphale. "Get your wings out."

"My dear, if your powers aren't working, why do you think mine--"

Crowley hopped off the desk, crossed the distance between them in two strides and gripped the angel by the collar. "Open. Your. Wings."

Aziraphale's eyes widened for a split-second, before he caught himself and concentrated.

Crowley felt the tug of the angel's magic, due to being so close to him. They were always aware of each other, much in the same way humans always knew when they weren't alone in a house, and Aziraphale being a Principality – and therefore packing quite a punch – helped, too. Once upon a time, Crowley had used their mutual radar to stay away from him. These days, he mostly used it to track the angel across London when he wasn't in the bookshop. But right now, even though he could feel it, it wasn't the cool brush of holiness against his consciousness. It felt more like someone had hurled a slug against a window it was now sliding off.

Aziraphale stopped making an effort. "Happy now?"

Crowley let go of him. "Less inclined to believe you're full of shit." He brought some distance between them and rolled his shoulders. He had the sudden urge to stretch his wings, now that it was completely impossible. This was what flatulent humans must feel like in crowded elevators. "Well."

"Well?"

Aziraphale raised a brow.

The demon picked at a cuticle. "You had all the answers so far, you must have a solution for this."

"I just told you. Force and direction."

"And our powers _aren't_ working. Moving on."

Aziraphale huffed. "Wrong. Our ethereal – or, in your case, occult – powers aren't. Doesn't mean anything else has ceased to function."

He reached for the chair Crowley had discarded earlier, turned it around and leaned onto the back of it.

Crowley pursed his lips, thinking about it. "You want us to literally punch your way out of here? Sure." He flexed his fingers. "Haven't punched a window in a long time. We could throw books, too."

The angel rolled his eyes. He _actually_ rolled his eyes. Crowley could barely stop himself from gaping in shock.

"Don't be so dim, Crowley, of course not."

"Then what–"

All of a sudden, Aziraphale seemed unable to look him in the eye. "The alternative is really quite obvious. It might be crude, but I'm reasonable sure it will work."

Puzzled, Crowley took in the angel's attitude. There was nothing about punching that should cause this level of shiftiness, was there? And it wasn't crude, except maybe if one were running around after dark in Soho or didn't have a good reason, which they had. This would almost be like a prison break. The Reign of Terror all over again – only then he'd of course done the punching with his powers. Now they'd have to do it with their bodies, but at least no one was going to execute them if they didn't manage it on the first–

The penny dropped.

"Oh Sat-, Go-, _Holy Fuck!_ " Crowley exclaimed. Laughter bubbled up in his throat and overflowed before he could stop it. "You! This! From you! Angel." He doubled over, wheezing for air. "Shit, I'm going to pass out. Oh, oh!"

Aziraphale cleared his throat. "I'd rather hope not."

Crowley's hands slipped from their rest on the desk and he almost fell over, bending at the waist, gasping. It took a while until he could form words again, and even then, it was between fits of giggling. "Oh, this is _gold_. Especially coming from you. Have you ever even done it before?"

"Of course." Aziraphale sniffed, as if the question personally offended him.

Crowley blinked. "What, really?"

"You haven't?"

"Yes, but– I never thought you had it in you." Realizing what he'd said only after it had come out of his mouth, Crowley leered. "In all senses of the word."

Aziraphale's lips twitched. "I assume this means I haven't in your world. Well, if you'd rather not, I'm sure we can find a way to reverse our predicament another way."

"I didn't say that."

Oh, he hadn't at all. A slow smile spread over Crowley's face.

"So you…?" Aziraphale stopped, mildly surprised.

The demon shrugged, tugging off his necktie. "Let's say it's an opportunity I've been waiting for… for a while."

"I see."

Oh, he did. Or, better, he would. Crowley hopped off the desk and, in one smooth motion, slipped out of his jacket. Since he couldn't just miracle it away – a real bother, that one – he found himself thus with his jacket in his hand, and, after a moment of frowning at it, dropped it to the floor. Then he hooked a finger into his belt buckle and looked expectantly at the angel.

Aziraphale cleared his throat. "No time to waste, I guess," he mumbled and pulled his sweater over his head.

"If you don't mind," Crowley drawled. He managed to get himself shirtless in the time it took Aziraphale to peel himself out of his three outer layers, all increasingly tartan, which didn't bode well for his underwear. "I have dinner reservations. At the Ritz."

"With me," Aziraphale said. "The other me."

"Yes, _obviously_ ," said Crowley. He pushed his black jeans to his ankles and stepped out of them, which left him in nothing but a pair of snug, black briefs. "I know far more fun places to dine without you. Ones I don't have to behave myself in."

Aziraphale's boxers were, to the demon's mild surprise, a muted pine-tree green. The lack of pattern made the color almost forgivable.

Crowley would have taken him for the type to fold his clothes, and maybe dither around a little bit in embarrassment at what was to follow. But this angel merely draped everything over the backrest of the chair he'd claimed so wisely for himself, and shook his head. "You never behave yourself."

Wasn't that true. Crowley smirked, shucked his underwear, and placed both hands flat on the surface of the desk. He pulled a knee up to rest it against the edge, tilting his hip – and rear – up in shameless invitation. "And you're just dying to chastise me for it."

Aziraphale approached him without hesitation, which was another thing that surprised him. But if this really was an Aziraphale from a different world and not a hallucination – and ever since his powers had died on him, Crowley was far more inclined to believe it really was an inter-dimensional mishap that had brought them here – then the angel's shy dithery-ness wasn't a universal trait. Huh.

Hands curved over Crowley's naked hip, broad and warm, and he let out a soft hiss.

"Don't be silly, dear boy," said Aziraphale. "If I wanted to chastise you, I'd put you over my knee."

Crowley was so surprised he almost swallowed his tongue. "Excuse me?"

Out of the corner of his eye, he caught the angel's smirk. He let his hands wander up Crowley's sides, then splayed his fingers over Crowley's ribs, only to caress his back a moment later. The touches were gentle and as non-sexual as they could get, considering they were both naked and rapidly hardening in the always slightly stuffy air of the bookshop.

It gave them both an opportunity to familiarize themselves with each other's proximity, for which Crowley was grateful. It wasn't easy for a demon, instincts-wise, to have an angel at his back, and this Aziraphale felt just different enough to register as dangerous.

The hands settled over his hip again and then Aziraphale's warmth blanketed his back, from his shoulders to his hip. He nuzzled the back of Crowley's neck, his breath a little moist against the demon's short-cropped red hair. The angel's cock, already hard, settled rather naturally between Crowley's arse-cheeks.

He was, from what Crowley could feel, a rather thick handful. A human man would call it 'sizeable' and a human woman would probably squeak in delight.

Crowley, knowing first-hand how a rod like that would feel inside his slick cunt, suddenly wished he'd changed equipment for the day. An arse wouldn't slick itself, for one.

Aziraphale pressed a kiss to the top bump of Crowley's spine. "Top drawer."

Caught, Crowley looked over his shoulder. "You keep lube in your desk drawer. You, of all people."

He found a dizzingly azure gaze fixed upon him. Had they always been... no. No, his own angel's eyes weren't that blue. They were the color of the sky, sure, but as far as angels went, that wasn't all that special. Even Beelzebub had them and she'd been one of the first to fall.

This Aziraphale's pupils were so blue they shone like cool fire. A hue darker and they would resemble a certain, annoying archangel's eyes rather than the heavenly Host's; shot through with power and laced with divinity.

Something twisted hard in Crowley's belly and he turned away quickly, biting the inside of his cheek to keep the moan in his throat from spilling past his lips.

Aziraphale didn't seem to have noticed. "Well, where else would I put it? I can't very well leave it laying around for the customers to see, can I?"

He snuck a hand into the drawer that Crowley had opened and came back with a tasteful jar from the drug store that looked surprisingly new. Like it had been bought in this decade, at least. Impressive.

Not that anything in Aziraphale's drawers, or his fridge, would ever spoil. The only thing that dared to go bad on him was his perpetually forgotten cocoa.

"Although, on second thought, it would probably make a lot of them much less inclined to buy something."

"The bedroom," Crowley said flatly. His breathing had, thankfully, returned to normal. Although one quick glance downward confirmed that he had gotten very, very hard. His dick was flushed red. "That's where normal people keep the lube."

Aziraphale let go of him briefly to unscrew the jar, but he stayed close, making it easy to lean into his warmth. "I'm not normal."

"I...," Crowley thought about it for a moment, but that opportunity was too good to let pass. "Can't really argue with that."

Aziraphale, to his surprise, just snorted. He dipped his fingers into the clear, clean-smelling liquid, until they were liberally coated. Then he placed the jar off to the side; not close enough they'd knock it off the desk as soon as they moved, but still in range.

Then, without warning, he slipped two slick digits from the end of Crowley's spine down into his crack and prodded his hole.

Crowley jumped. "Eep!"

"Eep?"

Aziraphale cocked his head. His prodding didn't stop, though he moved on to circling movements.

"Cold," Crowley hissed, relaxing slowly as his own body-heat warmed the lube. "Warm it up next time."

When he realized what he'd just said, it was too late to take it back. He shot a glance over his shoulder.

Aziraphale wasn't looking at him. His eyes were fixed on what was happening below.

The first finger penetrated him; a slick, cool, comfortable slide, and Crowley let out a harsh breath.

"Relax, my dear. It's going well."

If by going well he meant that he could insert his whole finger in one go and Crowley's body just gave up and _opened_ like he was begging for it... Crowley breathed through his teeth. "I'm not a virgin, you know."

"Really?" Aziraphale feigned surprise. "From how tight you are, I would've...," he hesitated. Maybe it hadn't been fake after all. "He really isn't treating you right, is he?"

Before Crowley could reply to that, Aziraphale crooked his finger.

"Fuck!", Crowley exclaimed, hips jerking back of their own volition to take more, to get that feeling again.

As if he'd been prepared for it, Aziraphale awaited him with two fingers, both of which slid in smoothely.

Crowley used to hate it, how fucking easy he got when he was meant to take it like this. How pliant his body became, malleable and accepting, as soon as it was reminded of the pleasure he could find in offering himself up. It was humiliating: he was a demon, for fuck's sake!

A demon who, right now, really, really wanted the impressively hung angel behind him to spread his arse and pound him like a cheap whore.

"There we go," Aziraphale crooned, rubbing his fingers around Crowley's swollen prostate to pull little, helpless gasps from him. "Isn't that nice."

His voice was so close to the demon's ear that he could feel the brush of his breath. He shuddered. Heat was gathering in his belly, looping and layering like a self-sustaining circuit, and Crowley couldn't help but sink into the feeling. Eyelids dropping half-closed, he leaned back against the angel, letting his scent wash over him while he was being worked open, readied to take his cock.

"You're far more amiable than I expected," Aziraphale commented after a while, now having moved on to three fingers and steadily working in a fourth.

Crowley wriggled a little, feeling prickly all over. His hole was drenched in lube that grew even slicker once it had warmed up properly. A drop of it had run down between his cheeks and left a wet trail on his balls. "As I – oh, _hsss_ – said, I've been wanting this."

Aziraphale twisted his fingers, before shoving them in again properly. "Wouldn't have thought you to ever admit it."

Crowley clenched his hands around the edge of the desk. A tiny bit of fluid bubbled from the tip of his cock. "You're not my angel."

"No, I guess not." Apparently finally satisfied with the openness of Crowley's hole, he extracted his fingers. "Would you like me to use a condom?"

The demon blinked. "Have you been sleeping around so much that you're contracting human diseases?"

"No." The angel chuckled. "But I've been told my seed has a particular effect."

"Oh?" Crowley peered curiously over his shoulder. "Mind telling me what that is?"

"Why don't you figure it out yourself?"

Aziraphale held up a condom and Crowley, never one to back down from a challenge, waved it away. "Hit me with your best shot, angel."

The angel chucked the condom over his shoulder and put his hands – his lovely, broad hands – back on Crowley's thighs. "Pull up your other leg."

"What? No!"

If he did that, he'd be kneeling on the very edge of the desk. And probably land his arse on the floor the moment he didn't pay enough attention.

"It'll be more comfortable," Aziraphale said. And then added, more quietly, "I won't let you fall."

His arms wound around him, his torso a solid presence at Crowley's back.

_Oh, fuck_ , Crowley thought, dizzy again. "I so hope you're not a particularly vivid hallucination."

He re-positioned his hands so he had them flat on the table, adjusted the knee he'd already pulled up against the edge and then, leaning heavily on the angel, he swung the other up. It was a somewhat clumsy motion, close as they were, and his naked bum ended up trapping Aziraphale's cock – also naked now – against his soft belly, but it was worth it for the way the angel wrapped around him, breathing into his hair.

"You smell of grapefruit, have I ever told you that?"

His hands stroked up the inside of Crowley's thighs, until he could cup his balls in one hand and curl the other around his weeping cock.

"You don't exactly make a habit of sniffing me, angel," Crowley said, somewhat breathless. He gave a pointed little wiggle. "What are you waiting for?"

The hand on his cock squeezed gently, causing a ripple of pleasure that flooded through Crowley's whole body.

"Just getting you relaxed, my dear," mumbled Aziraphale. "You know how this will need to go and I'm afraid I'm rather close already. I've wanted you for so long, I won't make it for two minutes once I'm finally inside you."

Taken by the words, Crowley moaned. His head dropped back against Aziraphale's shoulder. "Fuck, angel."

Another squeeze, this time around the demon's balls.

He curled his fingers against the desk and just breathed, trying to get a hold of the pleasure that was swelling inside him; to gauge how long he would need.

Sexual energy was easy to generate – which was why so many occult cults fancying themselves 'experts' of magic used ceremonial fornication as a power-source – but, sadly, notoriously hard to control. It was generally more pleasant to let it run haywire completely, spiral out of control until the body could do nothing but follow it over the edge into pure bliss.

But this time, they had a goal. They needed to generate enough power to crack their accidental glass cage and they needed to release it simultaneously. Which meant they'd have to reach the peak at the same time.

Crowley grabbed Aziraphale's wrist. "That's enough."

The angel hummed, but didn't protest. Instead he just grabbed the lube again and slicked himself up.

Crowley was too wound up to watch him do it, so he just hung his head, focusing on the empty feeling in his arse that needed filling.

Soon enough, something blunt nudged his soft, welcoming hole.

"My dear," Aziraphale panted, sounding affected for the first time, "Are you ready?"

"What a stupid question," Crowley mused and arched his back, the subtle shift allowing the tip of the angel's cock to pop into him.

Aziraphale groaned, hands flying to Crowley's hips to still him. Or yank him back. Either would be nice, Crowley was sure of that. Fire coursed through his veins. He wanted to be ridden hard and put away wet.

"Come on, Angel," he taunted. "Give it to me."

"Hah." Aziraphale made a noise that was somewhere between pained and amused. "Remember, my dear, that you asked for it."

His grip turned bruising, fingers digging in, and with one hard thrust he sheathed himself in the heat of Crowley's body.

The demon yelped, thrashing against the sudden, heavy pressure, unable to help himself: something large was shoving its way into his arse, and it felt like being reamed by a tree trunk; he _needed_ to get away.

But Aziraphale just held on tight, held him down, until the initial sting faded and was replaced by the overwhelming feeling of being stretched, of being _full_. The sensation was suffocating, and Crowley let out a shuddering breath, feeling well and truly impaled.

"Are you alright, my dear?"

The angel's voice was gentle, like water, on Crowley's overheated skin. He had trouble focusing for a moment, all his attention drawn to the point where they were joined, and his own thighs quivering under the strain. "What the hell does it look like."

Aziraphale stilled behind him. He'd been motionless before, in the way humans were shaken by their own heartbeat – but now he was completely frozen. "I'll give you a moment, shall I?"

Crowley would never admit it, but he was glad for it. It had been quite a while since he'd been fucked without occult interference. Thinking a muscle to relaxation was much more easy than getting it there on his own. 

He breathed against the stretch, and slowly, the air returned to his lungs. "Fuck, angel," he gasped, once his racing heart had calmed enough. "You should consider getting your dimensions looked at. That can't be normal."

"I assure you it is quite," said Aziraphale, sounding a little strangled. "Will this be a problem?"

The sensation returned to Crowley's feet. He wriggled his toes, then his legs, and let the motion travel higher, until he could give an experimental clench around the angel's massive length. Pleasure traveled up his spine, licking along his nerve endings, and suddenly he was a different kind of breathless. "You're kidding."

He curled his sweaty fingers against the surface of the desk and carefully lifted himself up a little.

"Crowley!" Aziraphale hissed.

"Hush," Crowley admonished, sticking a tongue between his teeth in concentration. One wrong move and this could end up very, very painful. There was something worrying about that thought, especially because he'd never had cause to think it before. Whenever his human body had been in pain on a physical level, he had simply wished himself alright again. Now he couldn't.

Aziraphale stayed where he was, thankfully.

Still hyper-aware of his situation, Crowley hovered above him. Then, with determination, he seated himself on Aziraphale's cock again. The slide was much easier this time, even though the angel was no less big, but there was an advantage to his size: he couldn't help but drag along Crowley's prostate, from start to finish.

Lights exploded behind his eyelids. He threw his head back and moaned. "Oh, oh fuck. We're good, angel, we're so good."

"Glad to hear it," Aziraphale said. His hands returned to Crowley's hips then, guiding the demon's next thrust.

With his body swamped by pleasure and more in favor of the proceedings with every minute, it didn't take long for them to build a rhythm. Soon enough Crowley lost himself in the good of it all: the thick, heavy slide inside of him, the warmth of Aziraphale all over his back, the angel's arms around him to steady and ground him and, sweetest of them all, the soft pants and gasps right beside his ear, telling him that his partner wasn't as unaffected by all of this as he'd seemed before.

Sparks sizzled behind Crowley's eyelids – he wasn't sure when he'd closed them but it didn't matter – and his wings trembled in their incorporeal form, in time with the throbbing in his cock. It was unbearable. It was _fantastic_.

It was so easy to forget why they were doing this, caught up in the rush, hurtling at lightning speed towards a very pleasurable end. He was moaning uncontrollably, his breath hitching every time Aziraphale shoved into him, and Crowley unthinkingly reached a hand down to palm himself.

The angel intercepted him before he could get there, squeezing his fingers in a firm grip. "No, Crowley."

The demon whined. His cock was twitching, _leaking_ , for somebody's sake, he needed to come.

"Alright," Aziraphale acquiesced. "Alright."

He let go, but crowded out Crowley's hands immediately to wrap his own long, elegantly manicured fingers around Crowley's dick.

The effect was instantaneous. The heat in Crowley's belly turned from searing to explosive, his hips twitched, shoving himself into the ring of the angel's fingers and he was _right there_ , just at the edge. "Aziraphale!"

"Together, Crowley," the angel moaned. "Come. Now."

Orgasm pushed him over into freefall, wind crashing and splintering against his ears; like dropping out of gravity, and it was all Crowley could do to clutch Aziraphale's arms and hold on for dear life as he spilled himself over the table.

It lasted longer than usual, the drifting and floating. When he found his wits again – partly, he'd just had his brains fucked out by a very talented angel, _anyone_ would cut him some slack – the first thing he noticed was the warmth. Not the sticky, sweaty kind they were covered in, but how warm he was all over. Especially... down there.

And growing warmer.

Crowley blinked and craned his neck. "Angel?"

"Shhh," Aziraphale soothed, rubbing a thumb over Crowley's hips. "It won't take long."

It was everywhere, so deep inside Crowley sluggishly wondered if it came from him, if he'd suddenly turned warm-blooded by means of holy dicking. But it felt more like… like walking into a church.

He tried to sit up in alarm, but Aziraphale's arms were around him. "It's gonna be alright. Just relax."

"Fuck," Crowley hissed, "It burns."

It really did. But it wasn't necessarily all that unpleasant. More like muscle burn after a long workout, the one that made a hot bath even more enjoyable. Crowley occasionally engaged in sports just for that feeling – well, most of the time he just willed it to happen. It did wonders for his physique in any case.

Aziraphale pressed a gentle kiss behind his ear. "I'm sorry."

Crowley wriggled a little. The angel was still inside him, which was nice. "Feels like my arse is on fire."

"It'll fade in a minute."

"How did you even know about it?"

The angel's lips curved into a smile against Crowley's bare shoulder. "I might be an angel, but I'm no innocent."

"Are you telling me you've been screwing around _with demons_ for the past six millennia?" Crowley asked in disbelief.

"No! It took me a while to figure everything out, after all."

"So not six millennia, just _nearly_ six millennia?"

Aziraphale sighed. "Maybe. With humans." He nuzzled Crowley's sweaty hair again, stroking a palm down his chest. "Have you considered not being the only one who wanted – _wants_ – this?"

Crowley had, in fact, considered that a few times. But the – his – angel had, in true heavenly adversary fashion, ruined it immediately by saying or doing something that made it abundantly clear that he was making no effort in that direction, in any case. So Crowley had never bothered, drowning out his increasing attraction and wondering with an endless string of faceless lovers.

He should probably reconsider his position now, he thought. Even if his angel didn't want him, _this_ Aziraphale obviously did, which meant his own must at least have the capacity for it, right? Unless...

Crowley shot a glance over his shoulder and found guilty azure eyes hastily looking away.

The pieces fell into place then. "You bastard," he hissed, a grin spreading over his face. "You planned this!"

Aziraphale blushed.

"Oh, you absolutely did, holy cow."

Crowley squirmed gleefully, causing the heat in his rear to intensify almost to the point of being uncomfortable, but he didn't care. It hadn't been an accident. Aziraphale from another universe wanted him, Crowley, so much that he'd devised a cunning plan to trap them both outside of time and space to have his naughty way with him.

"I may have helped things along," Aziraphale said eventually. "But Crowley, you need to know…," he hesitated. "I… if there was any way bringing you here would have hurt you, I wouldn't have done it. You _must_ know. Please."

Of course Crowley knew. Aziraphale couldn't hurt a fly, not even if he really wanted to. He'd just send it off somewhere, all the while hoping it wasn't somewhere unpleasant, and worry himself into a twist over it. It was really kinda cute.

Crowley stretched. "Oh, I don't know. Looks like you set this up pretty conveniently to suit your desires, whether I would agree with them or not."

"You can't think I would have –"

Aziraphale sounded horrified.

"Nah," the demon waved a hand, then captured his angel before he could move away. The skin contact was just too comfortable, and Crowley was a hedonist. "But how were you planning on getting us back if I hadn't gone along with this?"

"I built in a fail-safe," Aziraphale said flatly.

Crowley laughed. "Of course you did."

"We won't need it."

"Huh?"

The demon looked up, finally taking in the room for the first time. It had… not much changed, except for the windows, which looked like something had hit them hard from the inside. Spider-web-like cracks covered the surface, edges glinting in the ambient light. That must have been the shattering noise he'd heard when he came. Through the cracks, a faint whiff of _something_ floated in – again, not a smell but a sensation. A little bit of London as he knew it.

"So that's my door," Crowley said. "Where's yours?"

"Out back," said Aziraphale, before reluctantly letting go of Crowley.

His soft cock slipped out of the demon, leaving his hole clenching emptily and his thighs trembling. His knees ached from being pressed against the desk for so long and he was glad for the angel's hands that helped him back onto his feet.

Aziraphale left him leaning against the desk to catch his breath and quickly collected all of Crowley's clothing from the floor, holding it out to him. "My dear, I need to know. Are you alright?"

He still looked a little guilty.

Crowley took his clothes and nodded. "One question, though." He rubbed his thumb over the buckle of his belt, a slow smile spreading over his face. "We get to do this again, right?"

Aziraphale's eyes widened. For a split-second, he looked deliciously floored. Crowley put the sight away for later devilish glee and watched a sweet, sweet smile spread over the angels features.

"If you want, my dear."

"Oh, I do want." Crowley slipped back into his black briefs, then donned his trousers and shirt. The pull of London grew louder; the world wanted him back. He wondered how long he'd been away. Probably only a few seconds.

When he was fully dressed again, he turned to Aziraphale. "Next week, same time, same place?"

The angel burst out laughing. "Deal."


End file.
